A stained oak door held the numbers for the address given to Flynn. He walked up the steps and grabbed the knocker held in the mouth of a cast iron lion.
Flynn heard the clicking of heels on a hardwood floor before the drawn out creak of the solid door opening. Instantly, he surmised she was a young business professional. She wore her smooth dark hair up in a bun. Her plain gray skirt and non-descript white blouse were only accented by gray-patterned hose and burgundy heels. She appeared as if she had just arrived home from work.
“Hi, Ms. Taylor. I’m James Flynn from The National.”
“Please, won’t you come in?” she asked, gesturing inside.
Flynn stepped through the doorway and held his coat in his hand. She offered to take it for him, suggesting this conversation was going to last a while. He wanted to make her comfortable with him and figured some small talk might be good
In a short amount of time, Flynn’s pointed line of questioning revealed that Ms. Taylor worked as a curator at the Smithsonian’s National Science Museum, and had so for the past four years. She had recently graduated from George Washington University and decided to stay in America’s power city. Flynn guessed she was about twenty-eight years old, based on her graduation date, her time spent at the museum and her stint in Jordan with the Peace Corps.
As captivating as her life might be, Flynn was really only interested in seeing if this document was worth the money he plunked down for the ticket to D.C.
“So, tell me about this document, Ms. Taylor,” Flynn began.
“Please, call me Emma,” she said.
“Okay, Emma. What’s the story? Why call me?”
Emma picked up a manilla folder and her hands began to tremble.
“I called you because I didn’t know who else to call. After living in D.C. for about eight years now, I’ve learned to trust no one in this town.”
“I understand. I’m sure your grandfather felt the same way,” Flynn added, trying to sound reassuring.
“I also followed the story about you in the news several years ago — and I knew you could handle this information better than anyone else.”
Flynn studied Emma’s eyes as they scanned the room nervously. Before the trip, Flynn had a good feeling about this evidence. Now, his hopes were sky high that this secret document that Emma held in her hand truly was something big and well worth the trip.
“So, what is this?” Flynn asked, gesturing toward the folder.
“This is something my grandfather left my father, but my father never opened it. In fact, this folder had been sitting in a safety deposit box for more than 35 years until I retrieved it recently. My father said that any secrets his dad had were the kind that get you killed — but I think that’s ridiculous. His dad worked for the CIA, so I guess it’s easy to understand why he was so easily spooked.”
“Does anyone know about these files?”
“Nobody but me and you. At least, I haven’t told anyone else about them.”
Flynn was getting tired of waiting.
“So, let’s take a peek. What are we looking at here?”
Emma flipped open the folder, exposing a handful of CIA documents. The papers were dated 1963 and 1964, and the frayed edges and smeared ink confirmed that these documents were produced in the bygone era of carbon copies — stray marks on the page, arcane correction methods.
Flynn couldn’t read fast enough, but he wanted an immediate summary. It didn’t take long for Emma to blurt it out.
“These are papers from the CIA’s investigation in the JFK assassination.”
Flynn’s heart sunk. He had spent weeks at the archives and had combed through thousands of documents in the JFK assassination collection — FBI files, CIA documents, reports from the House Select Committee on Assassinations. Most of the pieces seemed to be there, but there were always a few key pieces missing. Everyone who proposed they knew who the mastermind conspirator was behind JFK’s death always failed to definitively prove their theory. Some powerful person in the government was like the kid who hides two or three pieces of a puzzle so he can put the last pieces on the board — except these people never had any intention of letting anyone complete the puzzle. He expected this to lead nowhere.
Flynn said nothing as he sifted through the files, trying to determine if this was just another expensive trip he wouldn’t be able to justify to his editor.
“There’s this one strange graph in the back… I have no idea what it means,” she said, grabbing the last few sheets at the bottom of the pile of papers.
She shoved them in front of Flynn. He instantly recognized the form. It was a polygraph test.
At the top of the file was a handwritten name: “Gilberto Alvarado Ugarte.”
Flynn knew all about Ugarte and his allegations in Mexico City in the days following the assassination of JFK. He began explaining to Emma how Ugarte claimed to have seen a man matching the description of Lee Harvey Oswald in Mexico City with a man in possession of a Canadian passport, as well as a “red-haired negro” two months prior to the assassination. It was a settled fact that Lee Harvey Oswald was in Mexico City on September 28, but Ugarte’s date was off by 10 days. The CIA quickly dismissed Ugarte’s testimony when he recanted, claiming that as an operative of the Nicaraguan military trying to infiltrate Mexico, he made up the claims to get in the good graces of the United States. He then recanted his initial recant, saying the Mexican government pressured him to recant his story. It all seemed like a rabbit trail until Mexican poet Elena Garro corroborated Ugarte’s story. She claimed to have seen Lee Harvey Oswald with the same company on the correct date. Garro was dismissed as a nut case and her eyewitness account was also dismissed in the initial report by the Warren Commission.
Flynn concluded his explanation by glancing at the polygraph test in front of him. He put his hand to his mouth, expressing utter awe at the information divulged on the polygraph test. The polygraph affirmed that he was telling the truth on every question. But in the CIA’s official report, Ugarte was shown to have been lying on four questions:
• Did you see a large sum of money on September 18?
• Did you see this money given to a person you described as Oswald?
• In the Cuban Consulate, did you hear someone say, “$6,500”?
• Did you hear someone say, “I can kill him”?
Flynn saw the handwritten note from Emma’s grandfather, explaining how the question “Did you see a large sum of money on September 18?” was interpreted incorrectly. The question was actually asked about September 28. And Ugarte passed. Another note explained that he passed the other questions, too.
Emma finally asked the only question that mattered in this titillating piece of evidence: “What does all this mean?”
“In and of itself, nothing,” Flynn replied. “The House Select Committee on Assassinations conceded that JFK’s death was likely a conspiracy and that Lee Harvey Oswald was acting on the orders of others. But since Ugarte’s testimony is true, the most important aspect of this story that needs to be investigated is determining who were the men with Lee Harvey Oswald that night. That might actually reveal who was behind JFK’s assassination.”
Emma stared blankly at Flynn before finally breaking the heavy silence.